


Apathy, Fault, and Other Sins

by Qwerty_Hargreeves_25



Series: Becoming Klaus [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Ben's death, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Detailed Violence, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Drug Use, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Other, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, detailed character death, manifesting ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwerty_Hargreeves_25/pseuds/Qwerty_Hargreeves_25
Summary: Dead Dove, Do Not Eat!! Please read ALL tags.Klaus has been on the edges for a while. Nobody knows, and nobody understands. It's better this way. Isn't it?Would anyone even care?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In some ways this is better than previous stories in this series. In others, it's so much worse.
> 
> I'm Sorry.

The pills are a beautifully thick wall of cotton between himself and the world. 

 

They kept away the ghosts. They dulled the pain of the belt- or cane, or crop, or whatever else Reginald decided to try on him. They filled his own head up with fuzzy softness, protecting Klaus from even his own thoughts. 

 

Reginald had put him through ‘rehab’ twice now. 

 

Rehab was a room in the basement where no one can hear him screaming and retching as the drugs slowly, slowly leave his system in agonizing drips. 

 

Rehab was a place where he could feel his skin crawl with biting insects, and where he could scratch until he bled without disturbing anyone else.

 

Rehab is hell; and Klaus is willing to do whatever he has to do to never, ever, go back. 

 

Klaus popped another bite of blueberry muffin in his mouth. The berries were bright and tangy, a perfect contrast to the hardiness of the muffin itself. Klaus savored the flavors, eating one muffin after another as the empty wrappers piled up around him. They were his favorite, and he couldn't get enough.

 

The others had mostly been and gone at this point, off to train or study. Klaus knew he should join him. He knew there would be hell to pay if Reginald caught him in the kitchen outside of mealtimes, but still he sat perched in the table and staring, transfixed, at a beam of sunlight shining through a crack in the lacy curtains. It looked like molten gold, pouring gently through the opening. The the dust danced in the air, sparkling like diamonds as it passed through. It was beautiful. 

 

He always missed sunlight the most.

 

“What are you doing, Klaus,” disdain dripped, poisonous and oily black from every syllable. It always did, whenever Diego bothered to speak to him these days. The pills protect him from that too. 

 

Really, it was better this way. 

 

“It's barely nine thirty. How are you already high?”

 

“The usual way,” Klaus shrugged before taking another bite of his muffin. “The real question is, how are you not high Didi?” 

 

“I told you not to call me that.” Diego snapped, instantly. He always was far too easy to goad. Klaus could seldom resist the urge. 

 

Klaus snickered, crumbs flying from his mouth. Diego flinched as one hit his cheek. For a moment that hung like glass, crystallized in front of his eyes, Klaus thought about licking it off. Not for any particular reason, but just to see what Diego would do. Klaus pushed the thought away, and it shattered into brittle pieces at his feet. 

 

Klaus tilted his head, swinging his feet lightly where they hung from the edge of the table. “I hate this place. Don't you?” he asked through his last bite of muffin. 

 

“Don't talk with your mouth full.” Diego snapped, all rigid teenage indignation as he scrubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “That's fucking gross.”

 

Klaus swallowed. “Yes mother,” he sang mockingly, saluting Diego before draining his orange juice with a satisfied sigh. 

 

He was surprised to find that Diego was still in the kitchen once Klaus had finished. Usually Diego would have taken his victory and stalked away by now. Interesting. 

 

Turning in place to stare directly at Diego, Klaus didn't bother to hide the drug induced intensity of his attention. Diego shifted slightly, obviously unsettled and equally obviously unwilling to admit it. A feeling of grim satisfaction bloomed in Klaus’s chest and he smiled thinly before abruptly throwing himself backwards, landing hard against the rough wood of the table, arms spread wide. 

 

He didn't mean to actually say anything, really he didn't, but the words forced their way past his lips, “I’m so sick of this.” he admitted softly. 

 

He could hear Diego’s softly padding footsteps across the floor, and he let his eyes slide shut as a cool shadow blocked out the warmth of the sunbeam on his forehead. “Sick of what?” Diego asked and Klaus could hear the scowl on his lips, could feel the disapproval in his eyes. 

 

Klaus suddenly wanted to make him understand. Klaus needed him to understand. Not everything, no, but enough. Enough to dull the cut of the knife, just a little. Enough to maybe get a shade of what used to be there, between them. 

 

Long seconds ticked by as Klaus tried to find the words for the deep, thick unending sameness of the apathy that crushed him. He could it feel across his skin like thick grey slime, cutting into every breath that he took. 

 

“It's all missions and training, missions and training." Klaus said at last. "I'm sick of missions. I'm sick to death of training. It never stops. It's never enough. It's never going to be enough.” Klaus's voice began to break slightly and he pinched his lips shut, refusing to give life to that pain.

 

“Maybe if you weren't high all the time, Dad would leave you alone,” Diego scoffed. 

 

It was bullet directly into Klaus’s chest. 

 

Klaus flinched, curling into himself slightly before pushing himself off of the table. As his feet touched the floor Klaus shook his head, turning to look at Diego. 

 

Whatever emotion had been there a moment ago, soft and pleading, had vanished entirely. In its place, something new surged to the surface; something hot and biting, it's dark and twisting coils wrapped protectively around Klaus’s bruised heart. 

 

Klaus still forgot, sometimes, that Diego’s aim could be as true with his words as it was with his knives. Even if Diego didn't know what he was trying to hit. 

 

Especially if Diego didn't know what he was trying to hit. 

 

“I doubt it Didi.” he sang. His voice was a high and shrill falsetto, he flung out a flamboyant arm as he twirled away from the table. Klaus felt like a parody of himself. 

 

Hopefully Diego took the act at face value. Klaus felt confident that he would. Diego always was fairly obvious, when it came to the subtleties. Though uncannily perceptive in his own way, Diego was easy to bluff and easier to double bluff. There was no need to give him more ammunition. 

 

Klaus had already given him far, far too much. 

 

“Besides, “ Klaus paused, regarding Diego where he still stood. 

 

He could let it go. He could. He really should. There was nothing to be gained from poking at Diego. 

 

He was not going to let it go. 

 

“We all have our own vices, don't we Didi?” Klaus let his voice go low and soft, beckoning and sickly sweet, as if he were offering a secret. In some ways, he was. The others always underestimated Klaus’s ability to see. 

 

“Do you think that Dad doesn't know yours? The dark vigilante, off to patrol the city streets" Klaus grinned darkly. Diego blanched, eyes widening as the blood drained from his face. 

 

"Do you think he doesn't see you sneaking out of your window at night?" Klaus continued, mockingly, "Doesn't see the bags under your eyes the next morning? Do you think Mom hasn't  _ told _ him about the bloodstains on your clothes?” 

 

"I never-" Diego began, but Klaus cut him off before he could get any further. 

 

“Oh, don't  _ worry  _ Didi,” Klaus crooned as he turned away and began making his way to the door. It took focus, far too much focus, to make sure that each foot lined up perfectly with the others, to make it all the way there without stumbling, without falling. Klaus was an expert at the maneuver by now. 

 

Klaus kept his voice light, “It's proof. You finally drank the Kool-aid, congratulations. Even your so-called rebellions are exactly what he wants you to do.” Klaus paused at the door, turning back to look at Diego’s cracking facade one last time. “He loves it. Adores it. You make him so  _ proud. _ ” Klaus couldn't quite stop the way he spit the last word out. It felt like acid burning in his mouth. 

 

“Klaus I-” Diego tried again to speak but Klaus couldn't stand to hear his voice. 

 

“Save it Diego.” He scoffed, turning back to pull open the door. “I've got people to see and things to do.” The handle was cold and hard beneath his hand, and Klaus dug his fingers hard into the ungiving metal as he stared at the scarred wood. 

 

The words spilled out without his consent, bloody and red like wine from a too full glass. “And yes, before you ask, that was a reference to drugs. Because if I can find one fucking thing that makes this hell hole even a tiny bit more bearable, makes me one tiny bit less likely to blow my own fucking brains right out of my head, then I'm going to do it. If you have a problem with that, you can fuck straight off.”

 

Klaus didn't slam the door behind him. He was better than that. Barely. 

  
  


*****

  
  


Klaus sprawled across his bed like a broken doll. He stared into the cracked plaster of his ceiling as is it held the answer to all of life's questions. Focusing on the vividness of the cherry sucker pressed hard against his tongue, Klaus didn't think about what caused the aches humming through the rest of his body. 

 

It wasn't so bad. 

 

They weren't so bad. 

 

They were petty and mean, sometimes they were purposely cruel, but they lacked Reginald’s imagination. They didn't have the finesse to mark him carefully, in only the most painful and discreet ways. They didn't have the patience to bring a session across hours and sometimes days. And afterwards, they gave him whatever price he asked. It was honest. It was a transaction, and a necessary one, since Dad had taken to keeping a meticulous ledger for the household expenses. 

 

It wasn't so bad. 

 

“You don't have to do this.” Ben’s voice was like an oil slick, working its way across calm waters. Quiet, but no less deadly for the lack of noise. 

 

Klaus didn't startle, turning his head instead with glacial slowness to stare at the boy leaning against his door frame, arms crossed. “I thought I closed that.” Klaus mumbled, pulling the sucker from his lips. 

 

“You did.” Ben sighed, shaking his head. He looked disappointed. Klaus hated when Ben was disappointed in him. “You're high Klaus.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. I am.” Klaus turned his head back to face the ceiling. “It's your turn to have a go at me then? There's not much left of me now. I’m afraid it's all,” Klaus waved a hand through the air, leaving sparkling bits of himself behind. He was disintegrating, becoming one with the air. “Maybe if you come back later.” 

 

Klaus wondered what Ben would find when he came back. He pictured his clothes, lined up on the bed, just like this, as if he were still here. Nothing left of Klaus but a sprinkle of glitter and air. 

 

Klaus thought that he might like to be air. The air was so free. It got to do what it wanted, when it wanted. Nothing could hold it for long. Except for a balloon. Klaus thought that he might like to be a balloon. A bright red one. People liked balloons. People were sad if something happened to their balloon. Sometimes people cried. Klaus wondered if anyone would cry for him, if something happened. 

 

“Klaus!” Ben snapped his fingers in front of Klaus’s face. “Are you in there?” Ben sat on the edge of the bed now, leaning over Klaus’s prone form. When had he had time to cross the room? How had he gotten into the bed without Klaus noticing? Why were Klaus’s eyes burning? 

 

Klaus reached out a hand to touch Ben’s cheek. Ben held still, letting Klaus pet idly at the soft skin over his cheekbone. Out of every one of his siblings, Ben was the only one who never quite gave up on him. “Would you miss me Ben?”

 

“Miss you?” Ben’s eyes crinkled, concerned as he pulled away from the touch at last. Klaus pulled his hand back, curling his hand protectively against his chest. “What do you mean, would I miss you? What's going on?”

 

“Would you cry?”

 

“Klaus, you're freaking me out.” And Ben did look worried. Klaus hated it when Ben looked worried. 

 

Maybe Ben thought that no one would miss him, if he died.

 

“I would cry. I would cry every single fucking day Benny.” Klaus mumbled, tucking his head into the soft fabric of Ben’s jacket. “Don't leave me.”

 

Klaus felt a soothing hand running through his hair. It was gentle, so very different from what Klaus was used to. “You're maudlin when you're high.” Ben commented, but it didn't feel like an accusation, just an observation. 

 

Klaus didn't say anything, focusing on his breathing as he tried to pull himself back together.

 

“I’m not going anywhere Klaus.”

 

“Promise me.” Klaus demanded without thought, voice muffled by fabric.

 

“I promise.”

 

*****

 

Klaus wakes with a hand tangled in his hair and the soft huff of snores somewhere above his head. He’s warm. He feels safe. Much safer than he usually does when waking up after passing out high in someone's lap. 

 

Klaus already knows what he's going to see. 

 

He’s already dreading it.  

 

Slowly, so slowly, Klaus tipped up his head to see Ben’s face, slack and smooth in sleep. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Guilt poured over him like a cold wave, cramping in his stomach. This is wrong. Bad. Dirty. 

 

He’s infected Ben. 

 

He can hear Sir Reginald’s voice in his ear, moist and wrong. 'Do you want to bring them down to your level Number Four? Make them just like you? You're ruining them.'

 

“No.” Klaus muttered, not realizing that he had spoken out loud until Ben began to stir slowly. 

 

“Klaus?” he asked, voice groggy with sleep. “Are you okay? I think you were having a bad trip. You scared me.”

 

Klaus blinked back to the present, pulling himself carefully away from the tangle of limbs and blankets. “Yeah, I’m, yeah.” Klaus scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to force away the ghost of Ben’s warm fingers against his scalp. “I’m fine. You didn't have to stay.”

 

Ben smiled, a lopsided, soft thing. The kind of smile Klaus hadn't seen directed at him in years. His chest clenched painfully. “I promised that I would.”

 

Bits of memory plinked against Klaus’s consciousness as he slowly remembered what had happened before he passed out, head in Ben's lap. What they had discussed. What Klaus had said. Mortification heated his cheeks. 

 

Klaus didn't know what to say about it. He didn't know if there was anything to say. So he ignored it, turning away to hunt through the clothing strewn across the room. 

 

“Have you seen my t shirt?” he asked, though honestly Klaus couldn't remember the last time any one of his siblings, especially Ben, had actually come into his small room. “The orange one.”

 

“You don't have to do this.” 

 

Klaus’s hands stilled. He stared unblinkingly into the brightly colored pile of dirty laundry. “Not letting that one go I see.” Klaus said at last, when it became obvious that Ben wouldn't be breaking the silence.

 

Ben always had more patience for power games than Klaus did. Ben had more patience for everything. 

 

“I’m not even just talking about the drugs, Klaus.” Ben’s tone was soft, carefully neutral. Dangerous. “I’m talking about all of it. The clubs. The men. Your friend, Andre," Ben's voice oozed sarcasm on the word 'friend' and Klaus winced. "I know what you're doing Klaus. But you don't have to.”

 

“You don't know anything.” Klaus bit back, but the words rang hollow in his own ears. It had only been a matter of time before word got back home. 

 

“I know some of it.” Ben’s voice deepened, slightly gravelly, the way it sometimes got when he was working hard to keep The Horror at bay. “I saw it.”

 

Klaus cursed internally, mind scrabbling. What did Ben see? Possibilities danced through his mind and Klaus’s gut rolled with nausea. “You've been practicing you stalking skills Benny boy.” Klaus said forcing the words to come out lightly, even as his mind raced to figure out how to control the damage. “I’m very impressed.”

 

“Don't do that!” Ben snapped. 

 

Surprised, Klaus jerked his head to look at Ben, who was practically vibrating with suppressed anger. This wasn't good. 

 

Klaus couldn't stop himself. 

 

“Don't do what Benny?”

 

“Make it out like it is some sort of, of, ” Ben sputtered for a moment, lost for words. Klaus was distantly impressed. Ben was never at a loss for words. “Like it's some sort of fucking joke. It's not a joke Klaus. It's dangerous.”

 

“So?” Klaus asked without thinking. “What does it even matter? It's not hurting anyone.”

 

“Its hurting you.”

 

“I’m fine.” Klaus said, reflexively. 

 

“No, you're not." Been snapped," You act fine, and everyone else is too wrapped up in their own bullshit to see that you're not fine. You haven't been fine in a very long time.” 

 

“You don't understand.” Klaus would do anything to make sure that Ben never understood. 

 

“I want to.” Ben’s voice was just short of pleading. 

 

“You really don't.” Klaus said flatly. 

 

“Please, let me help you.”

 

“You can't help me Benny.” Klaus reached out to pat Ben awkwardly on the knee, hoping to soothe the harshness of his words. “No one can.”

 

“That's such bullshi-” the sudden blaring of the mission alarm drowned out Ben’s voice. 

 

Relief washing over him like a wave. Saved by the bell. “That's your cue Ben.” he said, turning to dig through the pile of clothes again. 

 

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, train of thought broken by the alarm. He looked at Klaus in confusion, “Aren't you coming?”

 

“Nah.” Klaus shrugged dismissively as he finally found the shirt he was looking for. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll sit this one out. It's not like you guys need me anyway.”

 

“Dad’s not going to like that.” Ben commented, but he was already starting to inch towards the door, as if he was afraid that Dad would show up and drag them away by force. 

 

Not that he would. Not with Ben there, anyway. 

 

“I’ll deal with that when I get back.” Klaus took off his uniform shirt and quickly pulled on the too tight t-shirt. Dad was always pissed at him these days. If Reginald didn't punish him for this, it would be something else anyway. 

 

“You should hurry though.” Klaus frowned up at Ben’s unmoving form. “You don't want him to be mad at you too.” 

 

“Yeah, I should…” Ben paused, biting his lip. 

 

‘Just  _ go  _ Ben,’ Klaus pleaded internally. He needed to get out of the house before Reginald realized that he wasn't going to show up for muster. The longer it took for Ben to make his way downstairs, the less time he had to make a clean escape. 

 

Ben surprised him though, stepping forward and gripping his shoulder tightly. Klaus could feel the warmth of Ben’s hand through his shirt, the firm but not painful dig of his fingers, the slight tremble in his arm. 

 

“We are going to talk about this when I get back.” Ben said seriously. It sounded like a promise. “This is important. I want to help any way I can. I’ll always be there for you, you know that right?”

 

Klaus’s mouth was dry as he looked up into Ben’s eyes. “Of course,” he said at last. “Whatever you say Benny.”

 

“Good.” Ben smiled that special smile of his again, and turned to jog out of the room. 

 

Shame surged up, hot and thick in his throat as Klaus hurried to finish changing so that he could make it to meet Andre.

 

He had people to see and things to do. 

 

*****

 

Klaus was high when he heard the news. 

 

He had long since waved away Andre's offer of a 'full time gig' and had been wandering the city for hours. The frigid air stole the breath from his lungs even as his worn out tennis shoes fell apart under his feet.

 

Finally, the temptation of a hot meal and a warm room outweighed the possibility of saving the cash he had left for a hit later. Klaus could always just earn more money if he needed it. He sought refuge in a small dingy restaurant, and as he slowly thawed, he turned his attention to the flickering light of the small TV tucked into the corner. 

 

The glass shattered as it hit the floor. 

 

The news footage was grainy, and the people barely more than identifiable specks on the ground. Ben's form was unmistakable as the tentacles from 'the Horror' turned back on him. 

 

The others circled around him as his body writhed and jolted against the broken pavement. Klaus could see Diego trying to get close to the other boy, but one massive limb grabbed him and threw him across the parking lot. He didn't get up. 

 

Ben's body stopped moving. The tentacles collapsed to the ground and slowly began to dissolve. 

 

The scene cut to the anchor, but Klaus was already turning, running through the door, ignoring the angry yells of the waitress as he abandoned his drink, broken glass and all, and ran for the door. 

 

His brother was dead. 

 

Klaus knew it like he knew his own name. He knew it like the answer to Reginald's questions. He knew it in his bones, in his soul, in his blood.

 

Ben was dead. 

 

*****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's funeral is bad. What comes after is worse.

Reginald didn't even look at him for three days. 

 

It was distinct. Purposeful. It put Klaus's teeth on edge, when he had time to think about it. When he wasn't busy trying to keep it together during yet another interview, yet another memorial, yet another breakdown. 

 

He could see a dark shadow in the corner of his eye all the time now. It was hazy, but becoming more distinct by the day. 

 

Klaus spent his time pretending it wasn't there. If he could convince himself that it wasn't there then maybe, maybe, he wouldn't have to live with the shrieking ghoul of his brother's dead and decaying spirit. Maybe Ben wouldn't haunt him. 

 

_ 'I’m not going anywhere Klaus… I promise.' _

 

The funeral is huge, lavish. Thousands of people show up to mourn a person that most of them never even met. 

 

Klaus hates it. 

 

He hates the smell of the flowers, heavy and sickly sweet in the air. He hates the speeches that go on forever, talking about someone that Klaus doesn't even recognize. He hates how light the casket feels in his hands. 

 

Finally, it is done. As the dirt trickled from his fingers into the deep hole, Klaus looked up to find Reginald's eyes locked on him, flat and empty. Klaus turned away, moving to rejoin his surviving siblings where they huddle, slightly too close together. They stare, wide eyed and sad at the glimpse of casket at the bottom of the hole. For the first time, they seem to realize their own mortality, understand that they too can die. It's the last time any of them will see any part of Ben. 

 

As the darkness in the corner of his vision grows larger, more defined, Klaus finds himself thinking once again about how very lucky they are. 

 

*****

 

"Oh God, Oh God, I'm sorry, Oh God."  Klaus’s mind was hazy and red with pain. His shoulders and arms burned with the pain of being suspended. It had been hours since Reginald had grabbed him by the hair, dragging Klaus out of his office and down to the secret entrance to Klaus’s own personal hell. 

 

He couldn't feel his fingers at all anymore, the circulation almost completely cut off. If he stretched, Klaus could just reach the ground with his toes, to take some of the pressure off of his abused arms. Any attempt was met with the instant reward of pain from the cane against his feet and legs. 

 

"Quit your whining Number Four," Reginald hissed, swinging the hard length of wood across Klaus’s back, dragging another gasping howl from the boy. "We have barely even begun." 

 

Klaus whimpered, trying desperately to stop the hitching sobbs forcing their way past his throat. 

 

The cane hit the ground with a clatter, and Reginald spun Klaus around, the rope tightened around his wrists, grinding the delicate bones together. "You know why this is happening, don't you, Number Four?" Reginald tutted, brushing the curls away from Klaus’s face in a gesture that was very nearly kind. 

 

"Y-yes sir." Klaus stuttered when Reginald, obviously impatient with the amount of time it took Klaus to answer, twisted his fingers into the curls and  _ yanked.  _

 

"Well go on then, Number Four. I haven't got all day to sit here and listen to you snivel." Reginald began to tighten his grip, pulling on the delicate strands firmly as he spoke. "Why are you here?" 

 

"Be-because I was selfish." Klaus cried. Not content with the answer, Reginald's pulled sharply on the hair in his hand. 

 

"Because I killed Ben." Something broke in Klaus’s chest and he began to sob in earnest. "I killed Ben, I killed Ben, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

 

The pressure eased slightly. "That's right Number Four. You killed him. If you had all been there, as a team, you could have prevented it. You could have stopped it from happening." 

 

Reginald's voice was soft as he spoke to Klaus, lulling and even. "But you weren't, were you? No, you were off laying in a gutter, spreading your legs for drugs like a common  _ whore."  _ Reginald snarled abruptly, hand lashing out to slam against Klaus’s face with enough force to make his entire body sway on the ropes. 

 

Klaus tasted the familiar coppery tang of blood on his lips, but there was nothing he could do except let it drip slowly past his lips as the tears ran down his cheeks. 

 

"I would say that you're supposed to be better than that, Number Four, but we both know that that would be a lie." Reginald spat, turning away and moving towards the door. "You'll stay here until you fully understand the repercussions of what you've done."

 

"Please," Klaus cried out, not able to stop himself, "Let me out. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Let me out, please." 

 

Reginald didn't bother to answer. 

 

*****

 

Time blurred together in rehab. At some point, someone cut him down, allowing him to collapse onto the floor in a heap of seizing muscles. 

 

Klaus didn't even bother to open his eyes to see who it was. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. 

 

Food appeared and disappeared at regular intervals, usually untouched as Klaus suffered through the withdrawal. Occasionally, when the symptoms were at their very worst, he would feel the cool touch of synthetic skin against his forehead, hear the empty words of comfort that didn't change anything. She was always gone by the time Klaus was lucid again. 

 

In some ways it was a blessing. Klaus didn't want anyone to see him this way, but especially not his mother. She couldn't disobey Reginald's direct orders, and it hurt to see the pain in her eyes when Klaus asked her to. 

 

The only way to mark the passage of time was to watch Ben, becoming slowly more clear by the day. Klaus avoided it as much as he could. It hurt, to see Ben's ghost slowly taking shape in the darkness of the small room.

 

Klaus had never watched a ghost form before; now he could do little else. Usually by the time a spirit showed up to torture him, they were fully manifested, able to scream out their hurt and anger until Klaus could feel the wails like physical marks against his skin.

 

It felt like a knife between the ribs on the day that he realized could make out the hoodie of Ben's favorite outfit clearly in the gloom. 

 

Klaus had bought him that hoodie on their sixteenth birthday. He remembered dragging Ben across town to the second hand shop, laughing as they tried on ever more ridiculous outfits. Klaus insisted that Ben needed something besides just the uniform, joked that they couldn't go around in schoolboy britches for the rest of their lives. 

 

In the end, Ben had. 

 

Klaus supposed that he should be grateful; grateful that Ben wasn't in his uniform, and grateful that he wasn't covered in the gore and guts of his final moments. 

 

Klaus would have been more grateful if Ben wasn't there at all. He could have found solace in the fact that Ben had been left to move silently and swiftly into the afterlife, or wherever it was that spirits were actually supposed to go when they died. Not every person stuck around. 

 

Klaus didn't know what held some people behind, but not others. In Ben's case, however, he felt that he might have an idea. 

 

_ 'I’m not going anywhere Klaus… I promise.'  _

 

Klaus was the cause of Ben's death, and now he was the cause of Ben's ghost. The knowledge churned in his gut. 

 

Ben was silent, a shade that came to resemble himself a little more each day, even if the hood hid his face. The days, and then weeks passed in the darkness, and Ben never spoke; he rarely moved from the corner of the room where he had initially formed, and never while Klaus was looking.

 

Klaus wanted to apologize, cry, beg for Ben's forgiveness. 

 

Each time he opened his mouth to try, the words turned into burning ash, impossible to voice. Instead, he simply watched, and tried not to watch, as Ben became ever clearer. 

 

*****

 

"Call him Number Four!" The crop landed hard against Klaus’s back. He could feel the impact- the burn as the skin split beneath the blows. 

 

Reginald was no longer interested in being careful. No longer interested in hiding the blows. No longer interested in dragging this out into some sort of never ending game. Reginald was out for blood. Reginald wanted to punish him, and Klaus was always there awaiting his punishment. 

 

"I can't! I'm trying! I can't!" Klaus cried, his muscles ached as they strained against the restraints binding him to the bed. 

 

"You can and you will!" the air whistled around the crop as it slammed against Klaus’s ribs. "You're useless! A disappointment to me and to this family." Reginald snarled, raring back for another blow. "Call him now!"

 

"B-Ben." Klaus sobbed. "Ben, please. Talk to me."

 

The spirit didn't move. 

 

"Please Ben. Please talk to me. Just make it sto-" Klaus broke off with a gasp as the crop cracked against the flesh over his kidney. 

 

"It will stop when  _ I  _ decide to stop, Number Four," Reginald hissed, raining stinging blows for emphasis as he spoke. "Insolent brat! You've forgotten. I am in  _ control _ here. I make the  _ rules.  _ You will do as  _ I say."  _ Reginald wasn't even out of breath. 

 

Klaus hated his father more than he hated any other person. Klaus hated him even more than he hated himself.

 

"Yes Sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Klaus yelled, arching as far away from the pain as he was able. "I won't forget, I won't. I'm sorry!" 

 

"No," Reginald’s voice was as smooth as silk. There was a clatter as the crop hit the floor. "You're not sorry. Not yet." Fingers twisted cruelly into dark curls as Reginald pulled, bringing Klaus’s tear streaked face up to meet his own cold eyes. "But you will be."

 

Reginald's hand was a blur in the corner of his vision before it crashed against Klaus’s face hard enough to rip out some of the hair in his grasp. Klaus’s head snapped to the side. Bright specks of light flashed even as the rest of his vision darkened. There was no mistaking the feel of blood beginning to drip down his face where Reginald's ring had broken skin. 

 

It took every bit of strength left in him to force his eyes open; it was far too tempting to descend gratefully into the beckoning comfort offered by the darkness, away from Reginald's tender mercies. 

 

It wouldn't help. In fact, it would really only make things worse. 

 

"You are pathetic, Number Four." Reginald's voice was flat. Klaus could feel himself falling, sinking, drowning in the cold and uncaring water of his icey gaze. "You are worthless. You are less than worthless. You have cost me, cost us all,  _ everything _ with your selfishness and greed. You have no redeeming qualities. Do you understand?" 

 

Klaus’s mouth tasted of copper and ash. "Yes, " he said faintly, as the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. Of course he was worthless. This was all his own fault. Everything was his fault. He killed Ben. 

 

He deserved this. 

 

"You'll stay here until I let you go, and not one moment sooner. You'll do as I say, when I say it, and you'll not ask questions. Do you understand?" 

 

"Yes." Klaus blinked against the dark pounding in his head as Reginald's voice got further and further away. 

 

"What happens if you fail, Number Four?"  Reginald asked softly. 

 

The answer bloomed in Klaus’s mind. He knew what Reginald meant. He had known it for years. Every time he came down here, down to this  _ fucking  _ cell, he remembered his certainly of what was coming next. But Reginald had never made him voice it before. Never had him give it life. 

 

"I'll die here." Klaus murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on Reginald's own. "I'll die here."

 

"Exactly." Reginald's fingers released his hair, and Klaus didn't bother to try to soften the blow against the hard padding of the cot. 

 

Reginald moved away, leaving Klaus as he moved towards the door. "Consider what we've discussed, Number Four." He said, pulling the latch open. 

 

And then he was gone, leaving Klaus to cry softly in the darkness. 

 

****

 

"Do you remember the time we stopped the robbery in that ice cream place?" Klaus asked from where he curled against the wall. "The owner was so grateful, he gave us as much as we could eat. I thought Diego was going to be sick, he ate so much of that butter pecan ice cream. I think he still goes sometimes."

 

Ben didn't answer, silent from his position next to Klaus. Ben's ghost had taken to shadowing him, close enough to touch - if anyone could touch him, that was. Klaus tried his best to believe that it had nothing to do with Ben witnessing his training. 

 

Klaus tried to pretend that Ben wasn't present for his training at all. 

 

"I haven't been back. But ice cream isn't really my drug of choice, is it." Klaus's voice cracked slightly as he chuckled softly. 

 

"What was it, that you had? I forget. It was something fruity. All of those colors." 

 

Klaus didn't know how long he had been trapped in the basement. Long enough for Ben's ghost to look almost solid in the dim light. Long enough for the initial bruises to fade, even if new ones had taken their places. Longer than he had ever been before. 

 

"I wonder if I'll get to take a shower today." He mused aloud, the sound of his own voice the only thing breaking the thick, suffocating silence. He hated how quiet it always was in rehab, still, it was infinitely better than when it wasn't quiet. Ben's presence made it easier, in some ways. At least he could pretend he wasn't talking to himself for once. 

 

"I need a haircut. Maybe if I ask Mom, she'll do it. I feel distinctly fluffy. I hate it when it's this long. I look like some sort of sheep, and  _ not  _ the cute kind."

 

The sound of footsteps down the hallway stiffened Klaus’s spine. It wasn't the familiar, welcome clatter of Grace's heels against the concrete, but the heavier tread of a man's dress shoe. 

 

"Here we go again." Klaus murmured, shrinking more tightly into himself as his eyes locked on the door. 

 

"Any chance of you fucking off for a while, Benny?" Klaus asked rhetorically. Ben didn't move, didn't react in any way. "Yeah, I didn't think so." Klaus sighed.

 

The deadbolt on the outside of the door disengaged with a click. 

  
  


*****

 

On the day that Reginald finally released him, the only thing Klaus could think about for long moments was how bright everything was in the late afternoon light. The sun burned his eyes as he emerged into the courtyard. Klaus wanted to collapse, fall to his knees and feel the dirt beneath his fingers. 

 

That was not allowed. 

 

Reginald's gaze was a heavy presence at his back, and none of his siblings were around to witness his release. Klaus maintained his steady pace. He wasn't going back. He was  _ never  _ going back. 

 

Making his way slowly to his room, Klaus was careful to deftly avoid any obstacle that might alert someone to his presence. 

 

The duffle bag was hidden in the bottom of his closet. It was the work of only a few moments to gather some clothes, his toiletries, a few personal items.  Klaus was careful to get anything that he might need or want, anything he might miss. 

 

Reginald would expect him to try to steal away in the dead of night. He would expect Klaus to go for the cash hidden in his desk. He would be waiting. 

 

Klaus was  _ never  _ going back. 

 

He wouldn't expect Klaus to run the moment he hit his room. This was when he was supposed to be falling into his bed, overwhelmed and reveling in his freedom. 

 

This was when he was supposed to be planning his eventual escape. What Reginald failed to truly realize was that Klaus had had plenty of time to plan, plenty of time to think of any contingency. 

 

This was not freedom. 

 

The trickiest part of the plan was sneaking into Diego's room. By now, Reginald had surely alarmed his own window in some way. Klaus needed distance, needed a head start before Reginald realized he was gone. Getting caught the moment he cracked the exit was not in the plan. 

 

Diego, however, had free reign to enter and exit the house as he pleased. 

 

Diego, who was always out creeping through the streets, a constant watchful presence. He did the work that Reginald expected from the Umbrella Academy, and his window would be open. 

 

"Benny, can you check to see if Diego is in his room?" Klaus asked, glancing over his shoulder as he tried to cram his winter coat into the bag. 

 

His trip across the courtyard had revealed not the warm summer grasses Klaus had been expecting, but the first dead leaves and wilting flowers of fall. It would be cold at night soon, if it wasn't already. 

 

Klaus remembered the feeling of moist dirt in his fingers, soft and warm in the noonday sun. The smell of new growing grass in the graveyard. Ben had died in early spring. 

 

At least six months,  _ six months  _ of his life had been stolen from him this time. Six months in the darkness. Six months as Reginald's own personal punching bag. Six months as his toy. 

 

Klaus was never going back. 

 

Ben reappeared, a familiar hand signal indicating that the room was empty. He hadn't found his voice yet, but apparently their training had managed to transcend death. 

 

Klaus didn't know if it was reassuring or not. At least Ben was really there, and not the usual screeching poltergeist. It was something anyway. 

 

Klaus threw the bag across his shoulder, taking one last glimpse at the room that had been his for so many years. 

 

The top of his dresser was covered in a thick layer of dust, but his bed had been made impeccably in fresh sheets, ready for its owner's return. 

 

Klaus turned away. No one lived there anymore. No one had lived there for a long time.

 

*****

 

"Hey, I'm here for Andre. Tell him- tell him Klaus said it's about that job."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an additional snippit with this story. It doesn't quite fit in with the overall narrative, but it's important. Keep an eye out!
> 
> Your reviews are EVERYTHING to me. If you enjoy the story, please let me know. They are the reason I write, and 9/10's of the motivation that I get. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit different from other chapters. Mind the tags and enjoy.

"B-Ben. Ben, please. Talk to me."

 

The first thing that Ben was truly aware of was Klaus’s voice, calling him. It was like a beacon, and he couldn't have resisted that call if he wanted to.

 

He became aware of himself, all at once. His body stood, frozen in the corner of the room. He tried to turn his head, to lift his hand. 

 

Nothing. 

 

Where was he? How long had he been here? Why was Klaus tied to an army cot? Were they being held hostage? Ben didn't appear to be tied down, didn't seem to be bound in any way, actually. 

 

He couldn't move. 

 

Why couldn't he move? 

 

As panic licked at the edge of his consciousness Ben fought to remember something, anything useful, anything at all. 

 

There was a mission. Was that how they had gotten kidnapped? 

 

No, that didn't make sense. Klaus wasn't there for the mission. 

 

Why hadn't Klaus been on the mission? 

 

Ben could remember Luther being pinned down, the gunmen hiding behind parked cars at the edge of a parking lot. He could remember sneaking forward. He could remember releasing the Horror. 

 

Then what? 

 

What had happened? 

 

"Please Ben. Please talk to me. Just make it sto-" Klaus's voice broke off, and Ben looked around the room, searching for it in the dim gray light. 

 

Another voice caught his attention. It wasn't the clear bell of Klaus’s own, but the mumbled garble of a conversation at the other end of a long tunnel. Ben struggled to focus on the sound, until he was able to make out the figure of his father, standing over Klaus’s bloodied form. 

 

Why was Klaus so clear when the rest of the world seemed so faded, so distant? 

 

What the fuck was going on? 

 

Why was Dad here? Had he come to rescue them? That didn't seem very likely. 

 

Where was the rest of the academy? 

 

Then Reginald backhanded Klaus so hard, that for a moment Ben thought the man had broken his brother's neck. 

 

Dad had done a lot of terrible things to them over the years, but he had never hit them. He had certainly never done — whatever the fuck was happening here. 

 

The familiar cold churning of the Horror in Ben's guts began, begging to be released. 

 

That wasn't right. 

 

Why wasn't that right? 

 

Ben tried to yell, to scream out, to do something, anything to stop the scene in front of him. 

 

He couldn't so much as blink. 

 

He couldn't turn away as Reginald ran his hands posessively across Klaus’s skin, as if he had the right to do so. 

 

Ben couldn't hear the words that Reginald spoke, deep and close to Klaus’s ear. 

 

He could see the results. He could see when Klaus's eyes blurred, when it became too much and he started to drown. He could see the panic, the fear, the defeat; all of it in perfect technicolor. 

 

"I'll die here." Klaus's voice was broken by a sob, "I'll die here."

 

No. No, that wasn't right. 

 

That wasn't right. 

 

The words burned like fire across Ben's skin. He could feel himself being ripped apart, he could remember pain, so much pain. An agony that never seemed to stop. 

 

Ben remembered. He remembered the shock of the bullet, directly into the center of himself. He remembered looking down to see blood, black as ink, mixing with his own as it dripped from his stomach. He remembered the feeling of rage burning through him, so much stronger than it had ever been before; the Horror lashing out, tearing apart everything that it could reach. 

 

What it could reach was him. 

 

No. 

 

No no no no no. 

 

Ben wanted to scream, to wail, to fall to his knees. 

 

He couldn't do anything. He was frozen, unable to so much as look away as Reginald stormed out, leaving Klaus tied to the bed. 

 

Klaus cried softly into the thin mattress, and Ben wanted nothing more than to cry with him.  

 

 

*****

 

It took time- way, way too much time. 

 

Time was one of those things that hadn't translated well into Ben's new 'life'. If he wasn't careful, the seconds, hours, and days slipped through his fingers like grains of sand through a sieve.

 

He learned to adapt, eventually, by making Klaus his touchstone. Time was the space between Klaus’s heartbeats. He could focus on it, could hear it, magnifying it in his mind until it surrounded him in its comforting rhythm. 

 

Beyond that, time simply slipped by, completely meaningless in the empty silence of the room. 

 

Each day, Ben became a little stronger and a little more sure of his abilities. It was unbelievably difficult when even simple things took hours of practice. 

 

Ben felt like his body was a spaceship. All of the buttons were there, and it was theoretically operable; but in the end he didn't know the controls, and he was afraid of blowing the whole thing up. 

 

A small noise drew his attention to the figure on the bed. 

 

Klaus muttered under his breath, a frown crinkling his face, even in sleep. He tossed and turned, shivering under the too thin, too short blanket. Bruises spilled across the exposed skin like wine, the furious red stains deepening into purple. 

 

Dad had- Reginald had been there earlier. It always took Klaus days to recover, after.

 

The worst of it wasn't even the physical damage, though Ben was sure that he would happily murder Reginald twice over for that alone. 

 

No, the worst of it was watching Klaus crumble slowly under the onslaught. To see him bend, and bend, and finally break each time Reginald came to visit. To hear him choke, and cry, and apologize, over and over. 

 

Ben never wanted to hear the words 'I'm sorry' fall from Klaus's lips again. 

 

Klaus let out another muffled cry, and without thinking, Ben reached out to brush the matted curls away from his forehead. 

 

There was a hint of warmth. Ben could feel the faintest sensation of pressure, of resistance against his ghostly fingers. 

 

Jerking his hand back with a silent gasp, Ben stared at his fingers in disbelief. He hadn't actually touched anything since died. Even the clothes he wore were just part of the manifestation, no more substantial to him than anyone else. 

 

What was that? How? 

 

Klaus's eyes blinked open groggily, drawing Ben's attention. "Ben?" Klaus called out, struggling to sit up. Ben moved closer, making sure to put himself within Klaus's line of sight. 

 

Sometimes it helped, for Klaus to be able to see him. It seemed to comfort Klaus to know that Ben was there, to know that he wasn't alone. 

 

Other times it made things so much worse. 

 

Either way, Ben found himself on a tether, not able to stray more than about twenty feet from Klaus's side. He couldn't even make it to the basement door. 

 

"Is everything okay?" Klaus asked, voice low and ragged. "Something felt..." he let his voice trail off, blinking owlishly at Ben. Ben nodded, trying to radiate reassurance as he gestured for Klaus to lay back down. 

 

Klaus didn't argue. Half collapsing, Klaus let himself fall back onto the thin padding with a weary sigh.

 

As Klaus’s eyes slid shut again, Ben reached out an experimental hand, hesitantly stretching out to touch Klaus’s arm. 

 

Nothing. 

 

Ben's hand passed through it as easily as air. As easily as it had always done. 

 

Maybe he had imagined it.

 

He didn't think he had. 

 

Ben set the idea aside for a moment, running his eyes critically over Klaus’s form. He was careful to not think about what had caused the roughness in Klaus's voice, the exhaustion, the marks. 

 

He tried not to remember the way Klaus’s eyes had run, slowly dimming, until he had finally slipped into unconsciousness. He tried not to remember what had happened afterwards. He tried not to remember Klaus waking up in the middle of it. 

 

Most of all, Ben tried not to remember the way he had started to feel red- terrifying and fuzzy at the edges, desperate to take a chunk out of Reginald himself. The sensation of losing control, losing himself, the temptation of letting go and not having to think, of not having to witness. 

 

It was too much. 

 

It was far, far, too much. 

 

All that Ben could do was be there for Klaus, to not abandon him, not leave him. 

 

He couldn't help. 

 

And maybe, in the end, that's what Ben hated worst of all. 

 

 

*****

 

 

The crunch of broken glass against the pavement was shockingly loud in the pre-dawn quiet. Diego froze, muscles locking for long moments as he scanned for movement. 

 

All was still. 

 

Slowly, he began to creep closer through the shadows, aiming for the pile of torn clothing huddled in the minimal protection that the dumpster provided from the wind. 

 

Klaus was like smoke. 

 

For months after Ben's funeral, Diego had kept his ear to the ground, trying to track down his brother. It had taken less than a week for Klaus to run away, taking almost nothing with him in the process. Diego could remember the grim look on his father's face as he broke the news that Klaus wasn't coming down for breakfast. 

 

Klaus should have been easy to find. Diego thought that he had known most of Klaus’s contacts, but everyone he managed to corner swore they hadn't seen him in days, then weeks, then months. 

 

Diego had nearly given up when a familiar mop of curls had caught his eye across the subway platform. For a moment, he was sure that he was imagining things. It wouldn't be the first time he chased someone down, only to find a stranger's terrified stare once he caught them. 

 

Then Klaus’s eyes caught his, widening in obvious surprise. 

 

Diego dropped the box, donuts spilling out as he sprinted across the floor. He was fast, but Klaus had always been just a little faster, a little more slippery. By the time Diego made it to the exit, Klaus had completely melted away, hidden in the crowd. 

 

That was three weeks ago. 

 

"Hey Didi," Klaus's voice was dry, cracking slightly at the edges. He didn't move, hadn't so much as cracked an eyelid as Diego crept up to his resting place. "What brings you to my little slice of heaven?" 

 

"How did you know it was me?" Diego frowned as he took in the sight of his brother after so long. 

 

Klaus looked horrible. He had always tended towards wiry and lean, never bulking up even after all the training they did each day, but now his face was gaunt. A boney hip stuck out where the jacket gaped, revealing a tight fitting crop top. Bruises littered what skin Diego could see, and a fading purple ring darkened the skin over his cheekbone. 

 

What the fuck happened to Klaus? 

 

"A little bird told me." Klaus retorted, but without his usual heat. He opened his eyes, and Diego could feel his heart sinking like a cold stone in his chest. Klaus’s pupils were completely blown, the green of his iris a thin ring in reddened eyes. "What do you want Diego?" Klaus asked, voice oddly flat, "I'm busy."

 

"Yeah, I can see that," Diego retorted automatically. 

 

"Look, if you just came here to pick a fight, you can fuck right off." Klaus slumped back against the wall again, eyes slipping closed with a frown. "It's been a long night Di. I'm tired. Come back another day."

 

"Why?" Diego asked, "So that you'll have time to pick a new hidey hole? It's been almost a year Klaus. The memorial is next month. I don't have time to hunt you down again."

 

"Then don't. I'm fine." Klaus muttered, shifting into a more comfortable spot on the cold ground. 

 

"You're high," Diego said, instantly regretting it when Klaus’s eyes snapped open to glare at him.

 

Diego hadn't meant for it to happen like this. He had no idea how Klaus always seemed to know exactly what to say, what to do, to push his buttons. No one could get a reaction out of Diego quite like Klaus could. 

 

Luther could get him fighting mad, but Klaus didn't need his fists to tear Diego to pieces. 

 

"Ooh, deja vu incoming," Klaus laughed, but the sound was a hard, bitter thing. "What the fuck," Klaus enunciated the last word slowly and clearly, seeming to pull an extra two syllables out of thin air, "do you want Diego? I don't have the energy to play these games with you. Spit it out and leave."

 

A soft ache, long pushed down and ignored to the best of his ability, twinged sorely in his chest. It hadn't always been this way. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. 

 

"Please come home." he asked softly, dropping all pretense as he looked at Klaus’s state. Widening hands, he reached out, pleading. "We can take care of you. Get you the help you need."

 

Diego didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't the sudden burning hatred alighting across Klaus’s features. 

 

"Did Dad put you up to this?" Klaus demanded, voice hard. 

 

"What? No." Diego shook his head, confused. "Dad hasn't said anything about you at all since you ran away. I think he took it really hard, your disappearing act so soon after the funeral."

 

Klaus’s eyes narrowed, "After the funeral," there was something odd about Klaus’s tone, something Diego couldn't identify. 

 

"Yeah." Diego responded, memories flooding his mind as he remembered the sharp pain of Klaus’s leaving so soon after Ben had gone. "He's the one who found the note."

 

"Of course he did." Lips tightening, Klaus pulled himself upright, and began gathering what meager possessions he had surrounding him, throwing them carelessly into a tattered duffel that had certainly seen better days. "I'm not going back," he said at last. 

 

"Why not?" 

 

Allison had left months ago, off to make a name for herself in California. Vanya had been sent away to school almost as soon as the ink dried on the death certificate. With Klaus gone, Five missing, and Ben dead, the academy was an empty shell, with only Luther and Diego to fill it's echoing halls. 

 

"That's my own business," Klaus snapped as he stood, pulling the bag across his shoulder in one smooth movement. 

 

"Anything has got to be better than this Klaus." Diego argued, gesturing around the trash strewn alley. "Look at yourself man, you look like hell. When's the last time you actually ate something that didn't have narcotics in it?" 

 

Klaus didn't answer, chin thrust out defiantly as he stared Diego down. Diego stared right back. "You're a mess. It looks like someone beat the shit out of you."

 

"So what if they did, Diego?" Klaus waved a hand, gesturing across his skinny frame. "It's not your problem, is it?" 

 

Klaus turned to walk away, and instinctually Diego reached out a hand to grab Klaus’s elbow, trying to stop him. In a whirl of movement, Klaus slipped the hold, grabbing Diego’s arm and wrist and bending them backwards in a painful grip. 

 

"Don't touch me." The words were as sharp as of the steel of Diego's favorite knife, hidden just underneath the smooth silk of his pillowcase. A hair's breadth of movement in the wrong direction, and Diego was going to end up bleeding. "You don't have permission to touch me." 

 

"And they did?" Diego asked, biting the words out between clenched teeth. 

 

"Yes." Klaus released him abruptly, allowing Diego to sag against the wall. 

 

"That's fucked up Klaus." Diego's fingers dug into the tender flesh as he tended his sore wrist. "You just let them do this to you?" 

 

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Klaus snarled, backing away slowly, obviously not willing to turn his back on Diego now. "Go home Diego. Leave me alone. Forget about me. Pretend-" Klaus broke off abruptly with a nearly hysterical laugh, "pretend that I fucking died with Ben. I don't care."

 

"I'm not going back without you." Diego said, squaring his shoulders stubbornly. "Whether you like it or not, you're coming home."

 

Later, Diego would think that he could see the exact moment that something shattered in Klaus. It was something about his face, or maybe it was his posture, but when Klaus looked up again, it was with a distinctly dangerous gleam in his eye. 

 

Klaus stalked over to Diego, movements slow and dangerously languid. It made Diego think of a snake just before it struck, or a lion creeping through the grass. Predatory. 

 

Diego stiffened reflexively as Klaus drew closer. 

 

“Why?" Klaus asked softly, head tilted to the side as he looked up at Diego, eyes wide and oddly guileless. "So Dad can be the one to fuck me?" 

 

Diego's mind skipped track. 

 

He blinked at Klaus, mouth moving but unable to speak. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't that. 

 

Klaus didn't give him time to recover, pressing closer, deep within Diego's personal space as he spoke. "At least out here they aren't threatening to do it in front of you. Unless that's the point? Did Dad tell you about all of the special games we used to play? Did he explain what, exactly, my training was?" 

 

Klaus reached up a hand, setting it on Diego's chest in a twisted version of a caress, leaving it there for just a moment before using it to push Diego away with a bitter laugh, "Did he offer to let you join in? A bit of the action as a reward for getting me back there to him? That sounds like something he would do."

 

"N-no, I - I - I" For the first time in years, Diego found himself truly and fully unable to get the words out as he struggled against his own body to speak.

 

Cheeks flushing, Diego tried to force the words through his lips, but he really didn't even know what he was trying to say. He didn't know what he could say. 

 

His eyes burned slightly from sheer frustration as he tried to at least force the denial out. He didn't. He would never. It wouldn't come. 

 

As if a switch had flipped, Klaus stepped back, face going soft and oddly vulnerable. "Shhh. It's okay." Klaus shook his head slightly, voice distant. "Of course you didn't know. Of course. I know that."

 

With a shake of his head, Klaus reached back, digging in his pocket. Diego caught a flash of a baggie. Klaus tossed another pill in his mouth, biting down on it with a crunch. 

 

Diego's stomach clenched as he watched, but somehow he was frozen, unable to do anything other than watch. Klaus seemed to relax slightly after a moment, Diego could practically see his shields coming back online as the drugs hit his system. 

 

"Go home Diego, " Klaus said softly. "I'm happier here."

 

Diego could only stare as Klaus backed away, turning to run once he hit the entrance to the alley. 

 

Diego let him go. 

 

*****

 

The bag crinkled loudly as it hit Klaus in the chest

 

"Wha-?" Klaus's eyes cracked open, and he stared at Diego, indignant. 

 

"Eat something." Diego ordered, moving to press his own back against the rough surface of the opposite wall. 

 

"Ooh, yes, please and thank you." Klaus's eyes brightened as he tore into the bag. "Ooh, a real Wigmans hamburger, I can't even remember the last time I had one of these Di." Klaus peaked under the bun, "Make that a cheeseburger, yum. And no tomato!" Klaus bit into the cheeseburger with a wide grin, "You remembered!" he mumbled, spitting crumbs as he attempted to speak through his too full mouth. 

 

It took nearly every fiber of Diego's being not to say something about how completely repulsive that was. 

 

"It's hard not to," Diego responded, voice far more flippant than he felt, "with all the bitching you did growing up." 

 

Diego took the opportunity to run his eyes over Klaus. It had been months since Diego had seen the him last, and somehow each time it seemed like he had shrunken into himself more and more. 

 

Klaus ripped into the food like he hadn't eaten in days. Maybe he hadn't. 

 

"There's something else," Diego said at last, watching as Klaus dug the last few fries from the bottom of the bag. 

 

"Oh?" Klaus trilled contentedly, twirling a fry between deft fingers. "Do tell."

 

After one last moment's debate, Diego reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a shining silver key. He tossed it lightly, and it landed at Klaus’s feet with a light clink. "For you," he said. 

 

Klaus picked up the key with a frown, studying it like Diego had thrown some sort of previously unseen monstrosity at him. "What's this?" he asked, voice deceptively mild. 

 

"I joined the police academy," Diego said, as if that was some sort of reasonable response to the question that had been asked. 

 

They had never discussed exactly what had happened, that first time Diego had found Klaus. Honestly, Diego wasn't even entirely sure if Klaus remembered the conversation at all. 

 

The next time Diego had found him, Klaus was in a hospital bed, looking incredibly pale and painfully small. The hospital had called him, saying something about him being an emergency contact. 

 

Diego could still see the iv, the wires, the ventilator, all sprouting from Klaus like some sort of alien parasite. 

 

It hadn't been the time to bring it up, and somehow, after that, the moment had never really been right. Klaus had never mentioned it, and after much debate, Diego had followed his lead. 

 

He wasn't sure what he would say anyway. 

 

"Good for you," Klaus bit back, "but more to the point, Didi," Klaus flung the name at him as if it were one of his knives, "What the fuck is this?" 

 

"Has anyone ever told you that you cuss too much?" Diego deflected, weakly. Klaus didn't answer, staring at him with narrowed eyes. 

 

"It's a key." Diego responded at last, looking away. "I figured it was about time to get off of Max's couch."

 

Klaus knew that Diego had moved out of the academy. He had never asked why. 

 

"It's a small place," Diego continued, reaching up to run his hand through his hair, "bit of a dump really, but it's better than sleeping on the streets."

 

"I don't want it." Klaus said flatly, reaching to pick up the key before throwing it forcefully at Diego's chest. 

 

It hit him with far more weight than it should have, slamming into his heart like a physical blow before bouncing off to hit the ground beside him. 

 

Diego didn't pick it up. 

 

"You don't have to use it," he said at last, "but it's yours. If you ever need it, you'll have it."

 

"Not your smartest move Diego," Klaus said, waving a hand at himself, "giving out your house key to a homeless drug addict."

 

Diego winced, not saying anything. 

 

"Anything could happen."

 

After a moment Diego shrugged, letting his head fall back against the wall. What bit of sky he could see between the tall buildings was bright and blue, totally cloudless in the late summer afternoon. "No one ever accused me of being the smart one," he said mildly. That designation had always belonged to Ben, and the knowledge hung heavy in the air between them.

 

Klaus didn't speak, letting the moment stretch until the beeping of Diego's watch broke the silence. 

 

"I've got to go," Diego said, pushing himself to his feet. "Keep it. Throw it in a sewer. I don't care. It's yours."

 

"Why?" Klaus asked, head tilted. Somehow, Diego got the impression that he was asking about so much more than just why Diego had bothered to give him a key. 

 

Diego didn't know how to answer. 

 

So he didn't.  

 

"You can at least come by every now and then to wash your clothes and take a shower. You reek, Klaus."

 

"Ah well," Klaus settled back into his makeshift nest of dirty blankets, seemingly content as a kitten in its depths. "I can take a shower for that Diego, but what are you going to do about your face?" 

 

Diego laughed as he turned to make his way out of the alley, "It's the cross I have to bear."

 

Klaus never did use the key. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading. 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter gave me hell. It fought me the whole way because it wanted to do something, and I wanted it to do something else. Wild guess who won?
> 
> It's 11:54 on Thursday and I keep my promises.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. Please please comment to tell me how you liked it. It doesn't have to be long, even just sharing your favorite line will go miles and miles to make my day. I appreciate every single review more than you know.

**Author's Note:**

> This installment turned out somehow... Much crueller than I meant for it to be. Which is a weird thing to say, within the confines of this series. It's also quite long, so keep an eye out for chapter 2 on this one. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you ever feel like no one would care if you died, I would like to assure you that you are WRONG. Suicide is not a solution. It's never the answer. Depression is cruel and it feels unending but nothing, absolutely nothing, lasts forever. If you or someone you know is having thoughts like Klaus has in this series, please let someone know. If you don't feel comfortable telling anyone you know, then I highly recommend calling 1-800-273-8255 if you are within the states and speaking to a trained professional. It's confidential and they really CAN help.
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Your reviews are very important to me. Thank you.


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